


Neither Could You

by purplenerd777



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Brotp, Buried Alive, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-18 18:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplenerd777/pseuds/purplenerd777
Summary: My collection of Prompt Fills for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.





	1. Billy/Goody Hidden Scar

**Author's Note:**

> For Fontainebleau22 who asked: Billy/Goody Hidden Scars, hopefully I didn’t make it too angsty for you!

Goody has his head on Billy’s chest. It’s the first time since they’d started dating that they could enjoy the afterglow and Goody is just as intent to enjoy it as he did the sex. 

He’s listening to his boyfriend’s, and doesn’t that word make his own heart skip a beat, boyfriend’s heartbeat. It’s a little erratic, and it sends a thrill down his spine that he was the one to do it. 

He lets out a pleased sigh as Billy tugs lightly on his longer hair and eases into the deep languid kiss that he starts.

Bringing his hands up he traces the intricate mandala on Billy’s left ribs and lets out another sigh in response to Billy’s low moan of appreciation.

But as he continues to trace the beautiful negative space of the ink that helps to form the picture, he notices a raised circular puckered scar.

He attends to it for a moment. Presses a gentle kiss to the edges two inches apart before pulling himself away to look at Billy in the eye.

He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t break eye contact either. And he hasn’t stiffened but Billy is always so good at hiding his hurts. He always seems to put Goody first, and what if Goodnight’s problems made Billy think he couldn’t talk about, about this-

“Hey.” Billy whispers, but for the stunned silence between them it feels like Goody’s been slapped when he focuses in on his dark haired beauty.

Goody pulls himself away, reluctantly, and shifts himself on the bed so that he’s lying up on the pillows, eye to eye with Billy. 

His hand still rests on the tattoo, on the scar hidden underneath but his mouth is dry and he can’t figure out how to word the question he wants to ask.

Billy presses a gentle kiss to his temple and rearranges them so he’s the one half lying on Goody. Like this, Goodnight can’t see Billy’s expression, but it allows him to nuzzle his nose into the man’s hair. He breathes deeply and quietly revels in the smell of Billy that assaults his nose this close together. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there like that, with Billy finding comfort in his heartbeat, and Goody finding comfort in his scent, his hand still idly tracing the tattoo and his mind racing as to what could have possibly been the cause of the scar hidden beneath.

Finally, Billy breathes deeply and starts to talk. “I told you how I moved around a lot in foster homes right?” It’s not a question, but Goody nods anyway. Presses a kiss to the point where hair meets skin on Billy’s temple. 

He feels Billy almost melt in response, and even with the tension in the room, Goody finds himself revelling in this side of Billy. The side of Billy that not even their closest friends see. The one that feels like it’s for Goody’s eyes only. In these little carved out sacred moments for each other. 

“A few of them weren’t so great.” It’s a statement of fact, there’s no trace of self pity. But that doesn’t mean Goody doesn’t feel the need to provide some form of comfort. So he reaches for Billy’s hand that isn’t resting on his chest and gives it a squeeze before pulling it up and kissing the back of his hand.

He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t rage and question like he desperately wants to. Billy speaks on his own terms, and Goody will never steamroll over him. Everyone else? Yes. But, Billy? Never.

“One of them, only took kids in for the money. We barely got anything, but the foster parents they locked the stuff they got in a cupboard. I was the oldest so one night I went in and stole the key from the woman. She found out about it and her husband came home from work and cornered me.” It frightens Goody how calmly Billy is talking about the horrors of his past. But he’s too late to do anything for young Billy. But he can comfort the Billy he has in the now. And that brings Goody some comfort now, in this little pocket universe of theirs.

Another reassuring squeeze of their hands that are still intertwined and he adjusts a bit again so he can look at Billy as he talks.

“He came at me with this cigar and burned me on the ribs so my social worker wouldn’t see.” Billy looks at Goody’s eyes, black meeting blue, and there’s no tears. Not in Billy’s eyes at least.

“ _ Cher. _ ” Goody whispers, and it's a hoarse thing, but he can’t help but be grateful that he met Billy when he did. Not for his own sake, although it’s true when he says Billy’s saved him in more ways than one. But also because Billy deserves the world, and he didn’t get it,  _ for so long _ .

Billy presses a chaste kiss to his lips, but Goody doesn’t miss the slight tremble to the ribs that he’s still lightly dragging across. Without much thought, he rolls over so he’s on top of Billy and smiles down fondly at him.

“And the tattoo?”

Billy smiles gratefully, “I wanted to prove it was just temporary.” 

Goody huffs out a little laugh and bends down to bite gently at the column of Billy’s neck. “How poetic  _ cher _ .” He hums, and revels in the shiver of pleasure that he can feel run down the length of Billy. 

Their hands are still clasped together, but Goodnight brings his other hand to grip Billy’s jaw as he kisses deeply. They stay that way for a while, until Billy’s hips buck underneath him in a reminder of what they were doing before they got distracted by the demons of the past.

“Fuck.” Goodnight pants as he rests his forehead against Billy’s.

Before he can think about how beautiful Billy looks that close up, he finds himself on his back so quickly he idly wonders if the crack he heard was his hip, or in his head.

“Precisely.” Billy says as he smiles wolfishly down at Goodnight like he’s a prize waiting to be unwrapped. 

What happens next isn’t important, there will be many encounters like that in the years to come. But after, in the glow of their second round of the evening, they both map each other carefully and provide explanations for every mark on their bodies. 

 


	2. Vasquez Worked Themselves to Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is for the Anon in my inbox who asked: "For Bad Things Happen Bingo, would you (pretty please?) be able to do Vasquez working himself to exhaustion?" I hope you don't mind it being kind of shippy? But could also be read as just platonic broness as well.

It starts with the aftermath of Rose Creek, when he’s stuck laid up in bed and Vasquez is insistent on working on the reconstruction despite his own wounds and the others telling him to take it easy. 

“That boy is going to kill himself.” He remembers the doctor saying when she was checking up on Faraday one time.

He had been too out of it, high on laudanum and pain to ask what the doctor meant. But he remembers that it took both Red and Sam forcibly placing Vasquez in a bed to make the man rest.

It happens again when they all decide to make their group official and head off on the trail in search of more jobs. And it isn’t a one time thing. Vasquez volunteers for more watches than needed, goes down to the nearest water to fill everyone’s canteen even when Faraday could do it. He never stops. 

It takes him collapsing right in front of them all, after three consecutive nights of the outlaw not waking others for their shift of the watch, for Sam to state they weren’t moving on until Vasquez got some real rest.

Faraday’s tasked himself with watching over the man who has quickly, and against all odds, become him best friend of the group. He’s idly considering sitting on Vasquez to make the man actually lie down and rest.

“-you hear me  _ guero?”  _ Vasquez asks. He’s been switching between Spanish and English for the past however long. And to answer Vas’s question, no he hasn’t been listening. But from the time together he can piece enough information together.

Faraday shoots Vasquez a smirk as he shrugs and answers, “Not really.” Vasquez lets out a squawk of indignation more befitting the gambler. “But I’ve heard you before. You’re pissed at us for actually making you getting some rest.”

“ _ Chigando _ — That’s not it.” Vas swears. Faraday doesn’t even need to know the basics Vasquez has taught him. He can just tell. Because Vasquez is using  _ that  _ tone.

Faraday tries, and fails, not to roll his eyes, but he thinks, as Vasquez throws one of his boots at him; that he really should get points for trying.

“Hey,  _ muchacho,  _ you’re supposed to be resting, not fucking throwing  things at me.” He shoots Vasquez his, as Goodnight had dubbed it, sad dog eyes. 

“ _ Mierda _ .” Vasquez swears. But this time it isn’t vehement. It’s a tired thing and it’s enough to get Faraday to actually look like he cares. (If Vasquez wasn’t so fucking exhausted he would see Faraday’s been beating himself up since the first night Vasquez didn’t wake him for his shift, but Faraday figures the man needs it spelled out for him.)

He’s not, despite what strangers might think at first glance, good with words like Robicheaux is. Or fatherly like Horne. Or just a solid, if a bit strange, comforting presence like Red. His brand of comfort is awkward. But it isn’t what Vas needs right now. And while Faraday is sorely tempted to go off and find Sam to deal with Vasquez’s current mood, he’s never once in his life been a quitter. 

“Vas.” The man in questions just swears more under his breath. Despite the bruises around his eyes that descend down so they come to rest on his cheekbones. “Alejandro.” Faraday emphasises, and that actually gets Vasquez to look in his direction.

He gets a quirked eyebrow for his efforts so he takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you want to get rest? Is it nightmares? We can ask Billy  for some of the shit he gives Goodnight-“

Vasquez cuts him off with a harsh shake of his head. But he doesn’t say anything. And Faraday can’t quite tell if it’s a good or bad sign.

There’s a few moments of strained silence between them before Faraday tries to venture another guess. “Is it… You don’t trust us to watch your back? We won’t let anyone get you, Vas you have to know that right?”  His hands itch to reach for his deck of cards, but Faraday never had a tell before, and he won’t start just because it’s Vasquez.

As Faraday’s contemplating what they can do to make sure Vas trusts them enough to sleep, he hears a choked off high pitched whine and jerks to watch Vas crumple. 

“Shit, ah fuck was that- Do you need—“ He makes an abortive gesture to touch Vasquez but pulls back before he can do anything stupid. 

He starts to stand fully intending to go get Sam when: “ _ Ven acqi. _ ” Vasquez breathes harshly as he grabs Faraday’s arm and pulls him into the rangy Mexican outlaw’s side.

They sit like that for a moment before Vasquez catches his breath, his grasp on Faraday’s shoulder near painful, but he doesn’t say anything. “I fought back to back with you within the first 48 hours I met you. Of course I trust you  _ guero _ . But-“ This time he exhales sharply and his throat works a few times before he says, “Why do  _ you  _ trust  _ me _ ?”

It’s so broken and ragged that at first Faraday can’t even think to respond to the question. “What…” It takes him a moment for his brain to catch up before he pinches Vasquez in the side causing him to yelp in alarm. “What the fuck? Of course we trust you? Why the fuck wouldn’t we?”

Vasquez gives him a patient look that he’s obviously been practicing from watching Goodnight when he thinks Joshua’s being particularly dim. “I killed a man.”

Faraday can feel his expression morph into one of disbelief. “So? We’ve all killed people. And you told Sam he had it coming.”

Vasquez scoffs and makes a motion to stand up, but Faraday just hauls him back down. “Oh no  _ muchacho  _ we’re talking about this so you can get some fucking sleep.”

Vasquez’s glare is undercut by the fact that he yawns midway through, and even though Faraday is mad, so mad he can feel it churning painfully in his gut, his expression softens into a fond smile.

Vasquez just glares and starts to rant in Spanish again. 

“In English you jackass.” Faraday says with more fondness in his voice than he would ever care to admit.

Vasquez rolls his eyes, but after a few quiet moments, he does eventually start talking in a language Faraday can understand. “I have to prove it.” At first, Faraday doesn’t catch it. It’s so quiet, and so unexpected that it takes him a few moments to process what the outlaw said.

“Prove what?” He asks in the same hushed tone Vasquez is using.

“That- that—“ He pushes himself off away from Faraday and starts pacing in front of the gambler in a manner that reminds him of a caged wolf. “That I am more than a murder. That I can protect you all! That I deserve to be here.”

That last part sends warning bells off in Faraday’s head that prompt him to stand and put his hands on Vasquez’s shoulders forcing him to still. “First of all, Sam looked past what you did, we all did. No one gives a shit about that.” He shakes Vasquez a bit as if proving he’s real and solid. “I’m alive, you fucking shot the Blackstone bastard into a goddamn coffin for me! And the gat, that was all me.” 

This next bit, he forces Vasquez to sit back down as he looms over him, and a hazy memory of his mother scolding him when he was younger comes to mind. “And finally, of fucking course you deserve to be here. Emma called us the magnificent seven, and we’re damn well going to stay that way, which means we need our  _ vaquero _ ,” he knows he mangles the word, but Vasquez doesn’t stop him. “And we need him alert enough to  _ be  _ magnificent.”

Now, it’s Vasquez’s turn to smirk, even if it is a tired thing. “You could give Goodnight a run for his money,  _ guero _ .”

Faraday sits across from him, back onto his bedroll and chucks the boot that was thrown at him earlier back to its owner. “Go to sleep or I’ll go get Horne to sit on you until you do.” 

And after however many hours since Vasquez woke up from his near coma-like state, he lies the fuck down, and arranges himself for sleep.

“Fucking finally.” Faraday huffs, loud enough for Vasquez to hear, and isn’t afraid to smile when Vasquez lets out a snort of laughter.

Faraday’s idly shuffling his deck of cards, making the King of Spades dance in and out of the deck when he something prods at his shin. “What now, do you need a bedtime story for Chrissake?” Faraday teases, his tone light.

“Too cold to sleep.” Vasquez murmurs, sleepily.

”You want my blanket?” Faraday asks, already getting up to curl around Vasquez like he knows the outlaw wants.

It’s only when Vasquez turns around and tucks himself into Faraday’s broad chest does he finally drift off to sleep.

“They’re going to come back, and we’ll never hear the end of it.” Faraday murmurs into Vasquez’s curls, as he traces soothing patterns into the man’s back.

As he falls asleep to the man’s peaceful breathing for the first time in a fortnight, he can’t bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My card is here:http://purplenerd777.tumblr.com/post/176409951240/purplenerd777-purplenerd777-here-is-your   
> Feel free to send me a request!


	3. Vasquez/Faraday More Expendable Than You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who requested: Vasquez/Faraday more expendable than you. Also, set in a vague Modern AU! Timeline where the Seven (plus Emma) are some sort of secret government task force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow... I should really be writing my BB instead of doing this... She says as she posts another one... But come on... This is like one of my favourite H/C's for this pairing

“Motherfu- Ow! Dammit darling that stings!” Faraday most definitely doesn’t whine as he attempts to squirm away from where Alejo is tending to one of the larger wounds.

Alejo’s response is nothing more than a few swears and pressing the rubbing alcohol soaked cloth deeper into a cut along Joshua’s face.

Finally, Josh decides enough is enough and moves out of Alejo’s reach. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve got your back up about?” He asks, letting out a hiss of breath as a cracked rib makes itself known.

Alejo stares blankly at Josh, and at first he thinks the Mexican man didn’t hear him. But that thought is quickly banished when Alejo stands to tower over Joshua. 

“You do know this is the third time in a month someone from the team has had to pull you out of some scenario where you end up like,” He makes a broad gesture in Josh’s direction. “Like this?”

Joshua frowns a bit at that. “So? Sweetheart-“

“Don’t you sweetheart me.” Alejo hisses, but he sits back down and begins to pull bandages out of the first aid kit Goodnight had left them before wishing Faraday luck.

Josh continues on despite the reprimand, “ _ Sweetheart _ , we knew we’d have to put missions first over this.” This time it’s Josh that makes a sweeping motion to indicate the fragile new thing between them. Even if it does end with him wincing at the way it pulls a particularly nasty cut on his shoulder. 

“ _ Madre de Dios, Guero _ , listen to yourself.” Alejandro exclaims as he begins applying the bandages with, in Joshua’s opinion, more force than necessary.

“I am  _ hombre _ .” Josh practically snarls, his low level panic from earlier now turning into rage at his lover. 

And isn’t that a mess. Yeah, he can deal with it better if it was rage. But he knows the rage isn’t healthy. Has been trying to get a grasp on it since Chisolm chose him to join his elite task force. But dammit if Vasquez, Alejandro didn’t make him feel this way.

“-why you do this to yourself!” Alejandro finishes, and the way he looks at Joshua, he’s clearly looking for a response, but they both know that Joshua wasn’t listening. Alejo sighs and bows his head to place a gentle kiss on Joshua’s temple that he’ll deny to his dying day makes him feel safe and loved. 

“I said why do you do this to yourself?” And he continues on before Josh has a chance to defend himself this time. “We’re part of a team. You don’t need to handle everything by yourself anymore. I can protect myself. I’ve been doing this longer than you.”

Not much longer, Josh wants to argue, but he knows the point is moot.

But when what comes out of his mouth next is, “But the team  _ needs you _ .” He almost thinks it would have been better to have simply gone in circles.

Alejo’s fingertips still from where they had been lightly massaging his temples. “What?”

Josh feels his face start to heat, and he knows thanks to his damnable complexion Alejo can see it to. There’s no point in hiding it, even if Alejo didn’t already know all of his tells. “I said,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, he knows that Alejo will blow it all out of proportion. 

Something must click for Alejandro, either his hearing catches up, or his brain recognises what Josh meant. “You-” He brings Josh’s chin around so that green eyes meet slightly watery brown. “You are not less important to the team than me, do you hear me?”

For some reason, Josh’s throat chooses that exact moment to close up. So his only option is to nod feebly. 

Without warning, and jarring a few of the more serious injuries from Bogue’s goon’s interrogation tactics, Alejo brings him into a bone crushing hug, that winds up with his face at the juncture of Alejo’s shoulder and neck. A spot Josh is intimately familiar with, but never before in a situation like this.

“I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions.” He whispers into the crook where his head rests, and he’s glad his boyfriend knows him well enough to not point out the waiver in his voice.

“None of us are saying that.” Alejo soothes, one hand entwining their hands together and squeezing as tightly as possible as the other rubs light soothing patterns on Josh’s back.

“I just want to protect you.”

Alejo presses a kiss to his forehead and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Like you said, I’m an adult.” Josh manfully resists grumbling as his…  _ his Alejo _ , uses his words against him. “Now tell me why you do this.”

“I dunno, I guess I just know that I’m more expendable than all of you.” When the last word rushes out on a choked breath, Josh finally gives into the stress and pain and lets out a so, that’s quickly muffled by Alejo’s soothing sounds.

It almost sounds like when the man is soothing Jack the Dog during thunderstorms. And Josh knows he’s going to have to take a psych eval and a hundred other things Sam, Goodnight, and Vasquez will make him do before they even think to allow him into the field again, let alone in the field again by himself.

When he finally calms down, and his breathing comes back to a close approximation of normal, Alejo moves him back a bit so he can wipe the tear tracks away from Josh’s cheeks before pressing two feather light kisses to his eyelids.

“Sap.” Josh mumbles, and it doesn’t come out nearly as put upon as he wants it to.

“You love me.” Alejo says, and Josh doesn’t have it in him to argue something they both know is true.

*******

Once his  _ guero  _ finally falls asleep, tucked up against him, Alejandro helps him into a more horizontal position before tucking him in. He casts one last glance back at the finally peaceful form before closing the door and going to find the rest of their team.

Like he imagined they would be, the rest of the team are in the common room, and perk up immediately once Vasquez walks through.

“Well?” Goodnight drawls. And even though the Cajun sharpshooter and Joshua bicker a lot the fact that it’s Goodnight who’s first to voice his worry, is more than enough to show he truly cares.

Vasquez rubs a hand across his face tiredly. “What do you want to know? He’s not that injured, not that we thought he would be, but emotionally, he’s going to need time to recover.”

He doesn’t want to think about how Joshua will react to the fact that he told their team his confession, but he doesn’t know how else to deal with the heavy weight on his chest that settled there as soon as Josh said the words.

‘What do you mean, Vasquez?” Sam asks as Vasquez sits down next to Emma.

Vasquez hangs his head and sighs before answering, gaze still set on his shoes, “He thinks he’s more expendable than the rest of us.”

Goodnight and Jack the Human both make sounds of choked off alarm, and Emma’s hand immediately rests on his back. Billy and Red don’t make any outward noise or change, but he can feel an almost instant change in their energies from where he is. 

Sam leans forward in his seat, “Now where the hell did he come up with an idea like that?”

“I don’t know.” Vas replies miserably. Because if he did know, if he could pinpoint hte exact person in Joshua’s life that made him think that, they wouldn’t be able to walk unassisted once Vas was done with them.

He had his guesses. The man that sired Joshua who abused the boy and his mother. 

Joshua’s previous teams. 

Previous lovers.

Him.

He shook himself of that last thought. No, Joshua knew how much Vasquez needed him, he would never come up with a conclusion like that because of Vas.  _ Or would he. _

Sam lets out a heavy sigh that causes Vas to raise his head and meet the other man in the eye. 

“Do not beat yourself up over this.” Sam warns lowly, and damn if that wasn’t why he was in charge. “I’ll talk to Faraday once he wakes up and calms down for a bit.” This was said just to Vas but the next bit he addresses to the team at large, “Everyone else go get some sleep. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

The other’s slowly file out of the room. A few offer words of encouragement, or a friendly supportive pat on the shoulder, but it’s Red’s, “Take care of him.” That really moves Vasquez to go back to where his ginger haired pain in the ass is sleeping. 

When he opens the door again to let himself in, Joshua snuffles for a moment, and Alejandro pauses, worried that he woke the other man up. But when he settles again, Alejandro slowly lets himself in and eases the door shut behind him.

For longer than he’d care to admit, he just stands above the bed and watches Joshua sleep. Not in a creepy way, he reassures himself; but in a: I’m not sure you’ll still be here if I take my eyes off you, sort of way.

Eventually, Joshua starts letting out whimpers (groans the other man would insist upon if he was awake) of distress, and Vas quickly shirks himself of his unneeded clothes before curling himself protectively around Joshua, like that will banish the other man’s inner demons. 

For a while, Alejandro occupies himself with the task, before he eventually drifts off as well.


	4. Sam + Goody Fake Kill Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who asked for “Fake Kill Scare Sam and Goodnight Friendship”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to “How to Save a Life” on repeat while writing this, which made me think of like Mustang and Hughes (FMA ref what-up) and how these two would be them and that’s why Sam is rank Colonel. Also, who knows what time period/war this was supposed to be ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sam had known bringing Goodnight into the fight for Revenge, both Cullen’s and his own, was going to result in his friend being broken beyond repair. he just didn’t think that death was going to be a part of the deal.

If his own guilt wasn’t enough to make him sick every moment he looked over the others in the fairly modern medic centre in a war torn town, Billy Rock’s sad, downtrodden, lost gazes in his direction were more than enough.

“Sam, it’s been three weeks, we need to head back.” Horne finally sat him down one night after Faraday was finally able to open his eyes for more than an hour at a time.

The same bomb that nearly killed Joshua Faraday, demolitions expert, was the same reason Goodnight Robicheaux, his best friend since the military academy, was MIA. And, if high command were to be listened to, KIA.

“Ya’ll can go back to base if you need to.” Lord knows Horne and Faraday should get a proper look over from a military medic, but he wasn’t moving.

“Chisolm-“

“Colonel.” That seemed to break whatever control Horne had over his own guilt and pain. And Sam was pulled up by his disheveled lapels.

“Listen here Son.” Horne shook him when Sam opened his mouth. “Chain of Command be damned. You’re not only hurting yourself keeping us here.” Horne took his steely glare off Sam and the slightly shorter black man followed the bulkier man’s gaze.

And landed on Billy Rocks, sat just outside the medic tent gaze on the setting sun in the horizon.

“You’re giving him hope he can’t hold onto and it’s breaking him.” Horne’s gaze softened some at that. “You’re sitting here like some martyr hoping that you break enough things inside you he’ll come riding back over hill with the sunrise.” Something cloudy began to well in Horne’s eyes and Sam was reminded of his own father despite the man having been dead now twenty years.

And it struck him that Horne had lost family before too. Lost his son and daughter. Lost his wife. Sam hung his head in defeat.

“I’ll pull us out.” he whispered hoarsely. Then he lifted his head and looked hard and long at Rocks who glanced back as if he had felt the look. Their eyes met across the distance and at the same time they came to the same understanding. “But I’m not putting KIA down and sending it away. Not until I have proof.”

Horne deflated some then and squeezed Sam’s shoulder’s reassuringly. “Whatever you need.”

 

Two weeks later, Faraday and Vasquez had been put on leave and sent back home until the two could be separated long enough to work in the field again. Or that’s all Sam needed. Command Central said something about both of them needing to pass several rigorous mental health evaluations, but Sam had no doubt the two would pass after a break.

It was high time those boys got some anyway.

But, even with Red Harvest and Horne pressuring them, Billy and Sam hadn’t even thought of heading back yet.

It was just after a meeting that Red had sat in on, ending with a threat of dishonourable discharge or signing the goddamn papers did a commotion outside his tent catch his attention.

Immediately he stood up and headed out, Red Harvest one step behind him.

He met with Billy at the edge of the camp and the both of them held their collective breaths.

And, simultaneously, it was released like a sucker punch to the stomach when a scraggly, rundown, soldier came stumbling over the hill as the sun climbed higher into the sky.

“Son of a bitch.” Red swore behind the two men.

But neither had time to be shocked at the young soldier’s new vocabulary as they were both running through the sand to greet their Angel of Death.

Billy wrapped his arms around Goodnight’s shoulders and pulled him in for a bone breaking hug. Sam let them whisper whatever they needed to in a dialect of Louisiana French and Korean that was strictly their own.

Finally, Goodnight pulled back and Grey-blue met deep brown eyes. “Sam Chisolm.” Goodnight croaked, and it was clear the man had been behind enemy lines for going on two months. That whatever happened had caused something almost irreversible to his vocal chords.

“Goodnight Robicheaux.” He called and he felt a bubble of inappropriate laughter burst out of his throat.

“Sight to see with a storm at our backs.” Goodnight said as he approached on wobbly legs, even as Rocks attempted to hold him still as the medics ran out to collect the damn fooled idiot.

“Rain ain’t nothing but wet.” He said, and he knew, as he pulled Robicheaux into a hug, that they were getting strange looks. Young privates who knew nothing of the fire their friendship was forged in.

“What we lost in the fire we shall find in the ashes.” Goodnight replied, completing their little greeting as he collapsed all his weight onto Chisolm, even as his husband still hovered nearby.

“You do that again you’re getting demoted.” Sam swore as he pulled and gazed into Goodnight’s eyes to make sure nothing was broken beyond repair.

Goodnight let out a wicked cackle at that. “Best tell Lieutenant Cullen not to go on any more missions of revenge.” And Sam knew the joke for what it was.

It was like asking Sam to file a KIA report for his best friend when he knew deep in his heart the man would still be kicking, if only to add more grey hair to Sam’s head.

“Let’s get you into medical.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


	5. Billy/Goody touch starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poemsingreenink on tumblr asked for a Billy touch starved fic

Goody first met Billy at a fresher’s party in Oxford, and it was clear that the other boy was there just to get drunk. He kept an eye out because he was two parts worried about the other boy, and one part wanted to spend more time with him. 

At one point they managed to get separated and Goody found Billy an hour later bent over the toilet. At first Goody approached the other boy carefully, they were near strangers, and he didn’t want to spook him after all. But when he placed a gentle hand on Billy’s shoulder and the other boy leaned into his touch, Goody’s resolve crumbled. 

Together they stumbled back to the dorms, with Goody supporting almost all of Billy’s weight. The other boy didn’t talk much but he seemed to relax into Goody’s shoulder and calmed at the ramblings Goody provided. 

The next time Goodnight saw Billy Rocks they were in a lecture together. Goodnight wasn’t sure if Billy remembered him from the party and subsequent trek back together, but the other boy didn’t ignore him, although he made no sign of recognition. 

Years later Goody would realise why but at the time he merely enjoyed having a friend who craved another body’s touch as much as himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry how late this was my dear, and I am even more sorry at how short it is, but I figured it was better than nothing? Much love xxx


	6. Varaday Confined to bed rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HazelAthena, many many many moons ago asked for: "Varaday and confined to bed rest" with a side of "Vas was the one banged up? And really grumpy about it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes: Modern(ish) Au, Varaday, mild injury, and communication issues!

“Will you calm down,  _ guero _ , it’s not that serious.” Vasquez tries to console from where he is confined to mandatory bed rest. He hadn’t been pleased when Horne had announced the verdict after their latest mission, but he was nowhere near as upset as their resident demolitions expert.

“Not that serious?” Faraday asks incredulously. “Vas you were alone with them for 24 hours. They they-” He trails off, his voice high and panicked. 

“And they barely touched me.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say as it just sends Faraday into more harried pacing.

“They broke your arm!” He shoots back, not turning back around.

“And the real injuries happened when you lot rescued me.” He had meant it as a joke. They all dealt with their profession with a healthy dose of gallows humor. When Faraday had blown himself up two years ago they could not get him to stop making puns.

But Vas had apparently crossed a line and the other man stilled dangerously. His hands made an abortive gesture before closing into fists. “ _ Guero- _ ” 

“Don’t worry about it. You’re right nothing that a few days of bed rest won’t fix.” Faraday bites out before leaving the bedroom they had allocated as the sickroom in Emma and Matthew’s house. 

Vasquez sits there for a few moments, frozen, before he leaned back and hit the headboard, hard. 

“Sure, kill what little brain cells you have left.” Billy calls from the door Joshua just left through.

“Very funny,  _ cabron _ .” Vasquez bites out, though the curse is little more than punctuation, and it’s clear their skilled assassin doesn’t take it personally.

“DO you want dinner or not?” He asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically. 

Vasquez’s stomach, the traitor, chooses that moment to let out an impressive growl. He rolls his eye at the noise and nods in acquiescence to Billy.

The other man enters the room and shuts the door behind him. “What did you do?” He asks as he sets down the tray with the broth Goodnight began to cook as soon as they had Vasquez back in their possession.

“Besides getting captured by one of Bogue’s gangs?” Billy nods, and says nothing more as he waits for a response. Vasquez is almost tempted to wait him out, but his stomach growls again, and the assassin hasn’t given him the spoon yet.

“I don’t know.” He whines, and holds his hand out for the spoon. Billy seems to contemplate for a moment, before reluctantly handing it over.

“So Faraday voluntarily left your sickroom?” There seems to be something else Billy wants to say, but he holds it back at the last second. 

“Si.” Vasquez answers around a mouthful of broth. It’s not what he wants at the moment, but he knows he can’t handle anything else, not with a bullet to the gut.

Quick as lightning, Billy reaches out and slaps the back of Vasquez’s head.”What happened to protecting my brain cells?” He asked, shrilly, as he curled away protectively from the other man.

“You might get some sense knocked into you.” Is all Billy says before he leaves the room.

“You could at least have given me a hint!” Vasquez calls after him, and debates shouting until someone comes and keeps him company. But the one person he wants, has apparently left the house.

After his meal, Vasquez sets aside the tray and attempts to settle in for a nap. Without Faraday for entertainment, there isn’t much else to do.

He’s woken up a short time later by Horne and Chisolm entering the room for another checkup. When Horne seems satisfied that he hasn’t pulled any stitches, though how he was supposed to manage that confined to bed rest, Vasquez isn’t sure; the bear of a man leaves. 

Leaving Vasquez with Chisolm who is… Hard to read to say the least.

“Yes?” He asks, eventually tired of the silent stare from their team leader.

“What’d you say to Faraday?”

“ _Madre de dios_ , nothing any of us hasn’t said before!” Vasquez growls as he forces himself to sit up. He will not taking a beating laying down, verbal or otherwise. 

“Well, it got him mighty worked up.” Chisolm offers. 

The room is silent for a few moments, broken only by the sound of the front door opening and closing, and Goodnight beginning to reprimand Faraday for leaving. 

“I said he didn’t have to get worked up.” Vasquez answered, if only to drown out the sound of Faraday’s lecture. “He was concerned Bogue’s men did something, and I said that the gut wound only happened when the rescue began.”

At that, Sam sighs. He reaches up a scarred hand and drags it down his face, before leveling Vasquez with a you-better-be-shitting-me look that’s usually only reserved for Faraday and Red.

“Like I said, nothing that we haven’t joked about before!” Vasquez insists.

“Son, it may not be my place.” Sam rolls his eyes, before muttering, “it’s definitely not my place.” Then louder: “But you better figure out a way to apologize to that boy, and then you and he better talk. I’m not above locking you two in a room together.”

And with that cryptic message, the team leader exits the room, closing the door gently behind him.

“What?” Vasquez asks the empty room, only for no answer to appear.

*******

“Are you even listening, Joshua?” Goodnight demands, as his accent slips further into deep Louisiana. 

“I kind of zoned out around the third time you told me how stupid I was.” Joshua drawls in his own carefully crafted unaffected accent.

Goodnight stills in a way that reminds Joshua of the proverbial calm before the storm. Then he begins to rant at Josh in a confusing blur of Louisiana French, which Josh has no hope of understanding, and is only able to hope something will make it stop.

Eventually, Billy comes to collect his husband, leaving Joshua in the kitchen alone for a few peaceful minutes.

Only a few though, because it’s like Emma goddamned Cullen has a sixth sense for this type of shit.

She doesn’t say anything though. Doesn’t begin to rant, and just calmly goes into the fridge and grabs them both a beer. 

Faraday holds his hand out and waits, but there isn’t the comfort of the familiar weight of beer in his hand. So he looks up, and gulps at what he sees.

‘What did I do?” He asks.

Emma rolls her eyes, but does hold out the beer and allow him to take it. “What didn’t you do?”

Faraday glares at her for that one, but his only response is to take a long pull from the bottle. 

“Sam and Billy talked to Vas.” She offers.

Faraday huffs a laugh. “So you and Goodnight are talking to me? Do Red and Horne just get to watch from the sidelines?” Emma smiles, though he can see the sharp edges of a threat around the corner. “I left.” He shrugs. “I didn’t realize getting fresh air was a crime.”

Emma, lightning fast, though not quite as good as  Billy, reaches out and pinches Faraday, ignoring his  _ manly  _ yelp of pain. “You left without telling any of us why, and when Vas is injured.” The last part she stresses before taking a sip of her own beer.

“Didn’t realize I was his damn keeper.”

“None of us said that. Though you’ve never let him out of your sight when he’s been injured before.” She shoots back. But then something in her gentles slightly. “Did he accuse you?”

“What?” Faraday sputters indignantly. “Of course not. I mean, he did mention he only got a serious injury when we came in but-”

“Josh.” Emma cuts in forcefully before he can truly begin a hysterical rant. 

“Emma.” He bites back.

“He wasn’t blaming you.”

“I know.” He growls, his grip on the neck of the bottle threatening to break the glass.

Emma reaches out and pries it out of his hands. “Then pull your head out of your ass, and go talk to him.”

Josh sits sullenly for a few moments before whining, “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Red answers from the doorway to the kitchen, making Joshua jump, and Emma smirk in triumph. 

“Stay out of this, kid.” Faraday warns, but Red just rolls his eyes and begins to search for dinner.

“Go, talk to him, and stop moping. It’s not a good look on either of you.” Emma orders and stares at him until he pushes himself out of his chair and makes his way upstairs.

“Goddamn busybodies.” Faraday mumbles just as he comes to a stop outside the sickroom.

He’s just working up the courage to open the door, when he hears a sickening thump, followed by a curse from the other side.

*******

Josh comes bursting back in the room after the tray and bowl crash to the ground, and Vasquez attempted to pick it up, only causing the stitches to pull painfully.

“Are you alright?” Josh asks, coming up close to inspect him, that Vasquez can see the extra bags under the green eyes.

“Fine, just dropped the,” he gestures at the mess on the floor, “and then I tried to reach and, pulled something and I’m fine I’m just annoyed!” He curses as Josh helps him back into a reclined position. 

And as glad as he is that the other man is back in his space after so long apart, he can’t bring himself to close the gap. 

The short nap and lecture by Sam did nothing but stress Vasquez out and make him curse his inability to chase after Josh.

“You ok?” Josh asks carefully, and it’s only then that Vasquez notices that he’s still hovering delicately above his lover even as he’s clearly fidgeting to get closer and check himself.

“Go ahead, we both know you need to.” As if Vasquez hadn’t checked every single bandage any time Josh so much as sneezed when he was in the same position. 

Tentatively Josh reaches out, and lifts up the shirt, and breathes a sigh of relief when the bandages are revealed to be as pristine as when Jack last checked them.

“How’s the arm?” Josh asks quietly, still hovering, not sitting, not gathering him up in his arms. 

“I can’t take the painkillers for a few more hours, but I’ve had worse.” Vasquez answers, and immediately Josh tenses. “DO not run away again.” He threatens lowly, which only causes Josh to wince away from the bed. 

Vasquez reaches out to reel Josh closer which ends up with the sturdier built man falling on top of him, and try as he might to control  his fall, he still jostles Vasquez’s injuries.

“Dammit, Vas, don’t you realize you’re injured?” Josh curses even as his eyes scan Vasquez’s in panic. 

“Yes!” Vasquez near shouts. “I am injured. I have been injured before. We all have. So I want to ask, what is wrong with you?!”

Josh goes quiet for a moment, before relaxing, and hauling Vasquez into a bear hug, though mindful of both injuries. Vasquez makes a questioning noise, but is quieted by Josh taking in a shaky breath. 

“ _ Guerito _ ?” He asks, now truly concerned, all irritation vanishing.

“I tried to get you out uninjured-”

Vasquez rolls his eyes before raising his unbroken arm and slapping Josh rather forcefully on the back of the head.

‘What the hell? Vas!” Josh demands, reaching up to bring the raised hand against his chest, leaving Vasquez without a weapon.

“I was not blaming you, earlier,  _ idiota _ .”

“Hey now-”

“I am tired, and injured, and on painkillers. And confined to bed. So please forgive me for the ill timed joke.” Vasquez pleads in the quiet space between them. “I’m sorry  _ guerito _ .” 

Josh smiles tentatively before placing a heart achingly gentle kiss to Vasquez’s temple. “Yeah of course.”

Vasquez hums contentedly as he’s pulled tighter into his lover’s embrace. “So is a jailbreak in my future.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Josh responds, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I um, maybe didn't make Vasquez super grumpy, but I hope the ending kind of makes up for it? Also, this happens in like some weird Mercenary AU, and of course Matthew is still alive because I just want Emma to be happy. Also, I like brotp Emma & Faraday, sue me :P   
> (also sorry if Vas and Faraday's relationship seems like undefined at the beginning, they were together throughout the whole thing, I hope that comes across :/ )  
> Happy Holidays!


	7. Varaday Missing and Presumed Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: This one can be for either “Cradling someone in their arms” or “Missing and presumed dead”. The seven are stopped in a town and Faraday gets kidnapped (probs by someone he cheated) and gets buried alive. The seven find him and dig him out before he dies. Also Faraday is woozy from lack of oxygen so Vasquez gets to carry him back to the town in his arms. Could maybe include a “No more near-death experiences, okay Guero? My heart can only take so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely anon who gave such a wonderful prompt. I changed it a little, I hope you don't mind since it's very similar to a prompt that Beth (liggytheauthoress) filled for this pairing already in her BTHB fic. So I hope you're ok with the changes (and go check out beth's work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15030602/chapters/35220185 )

_ I’ll be right back. _

Vasquez could kill Joshua if the other man wasn’t already dead. They were a team, they were all a team, and they had all survived worse,  _ together _ , so why couldn’t that stupid-

“Don’t.” Emma warns, as she thrusts a warm mug into his hands.

He instinctively curls around the warmth but doesn’t bring it up to his lips. “Drink.” She orders as she sits next to him and takes a long pull of her own drink.

He takes a hesitant sip, better to ignore the thoughts in his head. The soft normally comforting scent of mulled wine reaches his nose, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything at the gesture.

They sit in silence for a while before Emma breaks first. “We don’t know-”

“They’ve had him for  _ days _ .” Vas stresses and his hands clench around the mug.

“And he’s stronger-” 

Vasquez throws the mug which shatters as it hits the wall and stains the safe house wall a dull purple. His stomach churns at how similar to blood it looks. 

“They’ve got him! He’s not going to talk! And who knows what they’re doing to make him talk, because  _ I’m not there.” _ He’s breathing heavily and he can feel another panic attack hurtling down the horizon.

“Emma, love, Sam needs you for a moment.” Goody’s Cajun drawl sounds from the threshold of the kitchen.

Emma hesitates a minute. He thinks she is going to leave without saying anything, but like always she has to prove him wrong. “He did to protect you, and he’d be pissed if he saw you right now.” He hears her footsteps begin to retreat but he continues to stare resolutely at the blood-red wine stain growing on the wall. 

He’s half expecting Goody to come in and try to talk to him next, but there’s not the sound of heeled boots on the kitchen tile, so he allows himself to sink deeper into his misery.

His mind starts to conjure unwanted images. But he can’t deny that he doesn’t deserve them. Denali carving up the toned abs with his overly large knife. Stretching his arms above his head, forcing him to slowly suffocate under his own weight. McCann throwing jibes that Josh wouldn’t refuse to answer, resulting in more pain. 

Bogue, finally growing tired and ending it-

He nearly jumps out of his seat when he sees a flash of silver sit next to him. But he calms down enough when he glances and catches Billy out of the corner of his eye. “They send you cause you won’t be afraid if I start swinging?”

Billy scoffs, and Vasquez can hear the sound of him lighting a match and then exhaling softly. The smell tells him it’s one of the joints he and Goody pass around when Goody is having an attack.

“Take it.” Billy orders. And Vasquez does. Because he can handle orders right now. He listened to his husband’s plea, and now he’s dead.

Vasquez brings the joint to his lips and takes a deep inhale after years of cigars, and finds  himself almost choking on the saccharine smoke. He holds it in as long as he can before it explodes out of him. Far less graceful than either Billy or Goodnight makes it look.

They sit in silence for a while, Billy doesn’t press and Vasquez is content running through scenarios where he was the one who took the gamble and force Joshua to stay behind cover as he gave himself to their arch enemies. 

Finally, though, the silence becomes as overbearing as Emma’s hovering. “Are you here because you know what it’s like?”

“We’d’ve sent Jack or Sam for that.” Billy offers, flicking the joint out and stomping it beneath his boot.

The man stays silent after that, hat pulled low and gaze distant.

Vasquez, is, for some reason, disquieted by this. “You have anything to say?”

“We’ll get his body back.” Billy states, in that dry tone of his. 

And Vasquez feels as if he’s been punched. “ _ Que carajo?” _ He demands, standing up so that his chair falls backward. He distantly wonders if someone will see what the commotion is about. “How can you say that as if-”

Billy stands more leisurely, “As if he’s dead?” He arches an eyebrow, and Vasquez doesn’t understand where this is coming from. Billy’s never been the most heartfelt but he isn’t an asshole either. That’s reserved for-

For…

“Why?” Vasquez pleads, his voice barely above a raspy whisper this time, and he finally after three days, collapses. 

And Billy is there despite being much shorter than Vasquez, to catch him and slowly lower him down to the floor. And sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as Vasquez finally succumbs to the grief in his heart and begins to sob.

* * *

 

He can’t breathe.

The damn bastards couldn’t get what they wanted out of him, he remembers that. He remembers not betraying Sam, or Emma. He remembers spitting in Bogue’s face when he began to taunt Billy and Goodnight. And actually making contact with his fist against Denali’s jaw when he called Red a disgrace. He started telling stories about Jack’s wife the old bear used to repeat when he was feeling particularly glum when the pain got too much to bear. 

And it was a pair of brown eyes and a ridiculous whiskey smooth laugh that he tried to hold out for. 

He almost made it. He thinks. 

But eventually, Bogue got tired of him not saying anything useful, and now he was here.

Wherever here was. He couldn’t exactly remember. All he knows is that it’s dark and he can’t stretch or breathe too deeply. And the air is musty and thin, and he can’t think. He thinks that’s bad…

His eyes start to slide shut. Or maybe they were already shut, it’s so dark he can’t tell…

He falls asleep thinking of an accented voice, rough stubble against his neck, and the voice rumbling:  _ guerito. _

* * *

 

“Grab your gear.” Billy orders, already throwing his go bag at him before he has time to react.

“We found Harpp, the bastard ratted Bogue out.” Goodnight continued as the rest of the team began to file out of the house.

“Gave us the location they took Faraday.” Red states, almost pushing him out the door and into the back of the SUV Sam sat in the driver’s seat in.

Vasquez refuses to get his hopes up, but why would they be getting gear if they didn’t expect-

“We don’t know what we’re gonna find.” Sam says, catching his eye in the rear view mirror. “But we aren’t letting them go without a fight.”

Emma turns around in the passenger seat and puts a firm hand on his knee and squeezes so hard he can feel his patella shit. “We’ll get him back.” She doesn’t say in what state, and she doesn’t need to. They’ve had him too long, and even if he was still alive. They’d kill him at first sign of an attack. 

For the first time in days he meets Emma’s eyes and gives her a shaky, hopefully reassuring smile. She returns it just as fragile, and faces forward, laptop open as she starts rattling directions to Sam. 

_ We’re coming  _ guerito.

* * *

 

He startles to a state of semi-consciousness when he hears the sound of gunfire and boots rushing. He isn’t sure where he is, but… he hurts.

That’s enough to have him almost slip off again until he hears some familiar voices. 

He can’t tell why they’re familiar. But one of them is commanding and some innate part of him begins struggling to listen to him so he can follow orders for once in his goddamn life. 

“Spread out! Look everywhere! We aren’t leaving him behind.” There was something unspoken there that he couldn’t figure out. 

He tries to take a deeper breath to get their attention. TO plead that he’ll follow orders if they could just get him some air. 

But breathing hurts right now and he just wants to sleep.

“ _ GUERO?!”  _ Another familiar voice calls, panicked. And something even more instinctual wakes him up enough.

Because as much as his body is screaming at him to just give in, that Sam will understand that he can’t follow orders this time, his body wants to curl up to sleep with that voice. 

He can’t get enough breath to cry out, to get his partner to find him, and at least hold him one last time. 

Instead he forces himself to gather enough energy to raise a foot and kick it against the top of the box McCann and Denali had shoved him in however many hours before. 

“Over here! In here!” Another familiar voice calls, a voice that sounds like the ringing of knives hitting their mark and while he wants to relax, he can hear another panicked  _ guerito _ . And that makes him struggle to stay awake.

“Goddamned sons of bitches.” Goody swears, and of course he’s with Billy. 

Faraday tries to kick again in agreement but is stopped by that voice. Which sounds like it’s drowning as he pleads for Josh to stay awake, to still be alive. 

Of course he’s alive. He thinks and rolls his eyes despite the pain that sparks because of it. He stayed alive for Vasquez goddammit-

The heavy metal cover is pried off his prison and he’s able to get a deep, painful breath of relatively fresh air, before he’s pulled into warm, strong,  _ familiar  _ arms.

* * *

Vasquez isn’t aware of much beyond Josh in his arms and the fact that he’s rattling off a string of Spanish that, if his husband could understand, he would be mortified. 

“I told you I’d be right back.” Josh breathes shallowly before almost hacking up a lung, and Vasquez can’t tell whether he wants to squeeze him closer into his chest, or to release him over to Horne who’s finally arrived, black medicine bag in tow. 

“You can’t keep doing this to me  _ caro _ .” He breathed harshly before looking at Horne questioningly. He doesn’t want to let go, but he will if it is what keeps his  _ guero  _ alive.

Horne subtly shakes his head, but frowns when he begins to take in Josh’s injuries. “I want to get him back to base. Can you stand, son?” Horne begins to place his hand on Josh’s back but the other man flinches away and curls deeper into Vasquez’s lap. 

“Yeah, give me a minute. Or two.” Josh mumbles into Vasquez’s tac vest. 

“Just let Vasquez carry him.” Billy states from his entrance by the door. Vasquez and the resident assassin make eye contact, and Vasquez doesn’t even feel ashamed by the tears he can feel gathering in his eyes. Billy doesn’t say anything and just nods his head once in understanding.

“That alright with you,  _ guerito? _ ” Vasquez asks even as he begins to get a more secure grip around Joshua’s bulkier body.

“They’re gonna make fun of me.” He thinks he hears Josh mumble, but it’s tucked into his chest so he decides to let it slide.

“No. We won’t.” Red says seriously, and Vasquez almost drops Josh when he sees how close the younger man is. Josh blushes a bit but mumbles a quiet retort before beginning to close his eyes.

“Not yet  _ querido _ .” Vasquez pleads, as he exits the torture room Josh was kept in, even when he was almost buried alive. Almost. He doesn’t care that Sam can understand the terms of endearment. Every one of them is causing Josh to relax further even with the injuries he can see. And undoubtedly those that he can’t.

“Just, stay awake till we get to the cars.” He whispers into curly ginger hair.

“Kay.” Josh mutters, and reaches a hand with a few broken fingers to grasp weakly at the hand Vasquez has around his shoulder. 

“No more  _ guero _ , my heart can only take so many near death experiences.” Vasquez says, and he doesn’t care that the other team members can hear him. 

“Sure.” Josh responds solemnly before smiling wryly, “Just remembers that means you can’t kill me for this.” He jokes. Just as the SUV’s come into view he closes his eyes, and sinks into a peaceful unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Spanish, it's all stuff I've seen Vas use in fics before so hopefully it's not tooooooo bad.


	8. Varaday Panic Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little snippet of my Witness Protection! AU that I’m working on featuring Vet! Faraday and Vasquez comforting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt from an awesome anon was: Varaday for either Nightmares or Panic Attack. Faraday being scared of Thunder and/or loud noises after nearly blowing himself up. Vasquez comforts him. Could possibly include bed sharing with Vasquez cradling him? But that’s up to you ❤️
> 
> As if I need an excuse to write shameless self-indulgent h/c fics with these two.

Another flash of lighting. Another two seconds of tension. Another explosion causing him to press his hands tighter to his ears in the futile hope of blocking out the sound.    
  
He’s laying on Vas’s pullout bed after a nice evening of literal Netflix and chill; after Jack and Red had both basically kicked him out of the house.    
  
But now, he’s sitting with his eyes scrunched in hopes of not seeing the flash. In the desperate hope that maybe if he doesn’t see the flash he won’t be transported to that fucking desert. To the damn IED.    
  
Another explosion.   
  
To Jack howling and barking in hopes that anyone, friendly or at least sympathetic, would find them before it was too late.    
  
He can feel the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. And the cold tracks on his cheeks, pooling above his hands are easy enough to ignore.    
  
His whole body is tense and only winding tighter as the storm moves closer above Vas’s apartment.    
  
Finally there comes the apex where the flash goes off and the thunder doesn’t even allow him a breath before sounding off again. And this time he can’t help the inhuman cry of pain that forces it’s way past his lips.    
  
After that, nothing will stop the hitched breathing, and then the hyperventilating.   
  
His fist involuntarily leaves his ear and makes contact with a yielding yet fairly firm form. And it’s the grunt of pain that makes him open his eyes.   
  
Only to see Vasquez hovering above him, arm wrapped around his middle.   
  
“F-fuck Vas I-“ Faraday struggles to sit up, even as another flash of lighting illuminates the living area and he can see Vas’s pained face. Even as his hand digs so hard into the side of his head that he’s definitely beginning to draw blood.   
  
“It’s alright  _ guero _ , I should have known better.” Vasquez attempts in a calming tone, pitching his voice low. Like Josh is a frightened dog. And he might as well be because he’s cowering because of a fucking  _ thunderstorm _ .

  
“No.” Faraday growls even as the inevitable crash of thunder makes it come out as a moan of despair. “Fuck, I shouldn’t- I didn’t-“   
  
He can’t get enough breath to explain himself. He can barely keep his eyes open. And he’s not even sure he wants to when Vas moves away from him.   
  
It’s fine. He tells himself, even though things were slightly better knowing Vasquez was nearby.    
  
He doesn’t lay down, but he does try to curl his knees to his chest, but his hip twinges sharply in protest, and he can’t help the resounding, “Fuck” that breaks past his lips.   
  
Abruptly, the overhead lights are on, and he closes his eyes to avoid the sharpness of it.    
  
He can distantly hear footsteps moving around in the attached kitchen. But over that, he hears rough, raspy singing. It can only be Vasquez, and while Faraday is always embarrassed when Horne tries the same tactic, he can’t say he minds Vas’s attempt.   
  
They stay in relative silence, only broken by the whistle of a kettle and a few distant rumbles of thunder as the storm moves on.   
  
“I’m coming behind you.” Vasquez warns as he moves behind the couch. He doesn’t have to warn him, Faraday’s been tracking his movements since he knew he was in the same space, but it’s a thought he appreciates nonetheless.    
  
“Tea?” Josh asks hoarsely as he takes the offered mug.    
  
“Atole.” Vasquez corrects. “Drink.”   
  
For as obstinate and contrary as Josh is, the offered drink smells amazing and is bringing warmth into his numb fingers, so he does as he’s told.    
  
“It’s good.” He offers.   
  
“It’s instant.” Vas replies mournfully even as he takes a sip of his own mug.    
  
They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the rain and wind hitting the window, as they finish their drinks and Josh comes down from the attack. That’s about when the shame begins to kick in.   
  
“Sorry.” He offers and rubs a hand tiredly across his eyes.   
  


Vas grins that danger-inviting-grin Josh is slowly falling in love with. “Remind me to never get in a bar fight with you.”   
  
His brow furrows. “That’s not-“   
  
But Vasquez doesn’t let him finish. “Do not ever apologise for that. You would never accept an apology from Señor Horne for one of his attacks.”   
  
Josh frowns deeper and looks into his empty mug. “It’s different.”   
  
“I’m going to touch you.” Vasquez warns, and it’s still processing in Josh’s brain even as he’s pulled into a loose hug that doesn’t feel like a cage at all, but rather like... Like home.   
  
Josh can’t help but sink gratefully into the embrace. Josh is worried that Vas is going to keep talking, but it appears that the carpenter has said everything he felt was needed.   
  
Coming down from the panic, with a hot drink and warm body embracing him, he’s starting to get drowsy in a way that usually only comes after he’s drank just enough alcohol.   
  
“I’ll get out of your hair.” He starts to disentangle himself, but it only makes Vasquez hold on tighter.   
  
“You are not going out in this storm.” Vasquez admonishes, he pulls back gently and seems to search Josh’s face. “Would you-“ He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “Would it help if you slept in my bed?”   
  
“I’m not going to kick you out of your bed!” Josh frowns. He’s never accepted charity before and he’s not about to start now, even if the thought of being surrounded by Vas’s musky scent is as intoxicating as it is comforting.   
  
Vasquez seems to start and throw out several options. “I was going to be in my bed too.”   
  
_That_ is now something that’s hanging between them. And Josh doesn’t quite know how to react with their friendship hanging above a precipice he doesn’t know if they can recover from.    
  
But his hip makes the decision for him. Or at least speeds the process along. “Sure, that sounds nice.” He tries for nonchalant, and catching a glance of Vas’s fond smirk, he knows he failed miserably.    
  
Luckily Vasquez doesn’t comment on it, just stands and offers a hand to pull Josh off the futon. And neither of them comments on how Josh needs to lean on Vasquez because of his damned hip.   
  
Normally it would take hours for Josh to fall asleep in his own bed, let alone with another person in the room. But between one moment and the next, listening to Vas’s gentle breathing, he falls asleep.

 

At some point in the night he wakes up, and he isn’t scared. He isn’t worried about the arm almost thrown carelessly over his waist, a thumb unconsciously rubbing a soothing pattern above raised, gnarled scar tissue. iOr the even breath on the back of neck. He’s not doing great, but in that moment, he’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the ending wasn’t too sappy and that the scene was alright and not too clunky with how I described the panic attack!


	9. Varaday + Punish your friend for your failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For hush-pu-py who asked for: "'I will punish your friend for your failure' with Varaday. Maybe they both get kidnapped and interrogated and Faraday gets whipped...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first thing that I have been able to write and finish in almost a month, thank you so much for the request! I will hopefully be getting to the others now that I have some motivation again.

“Goddamned Mexican bastard!” One of the lower rank thugs swears and Faraday curses the fact that he and Vas are tied back to back.

“Keep your hands to yourself, cabron.” His lover replies a low threat in his tone even as he pretends to bite again, clicking his teeth as he does so.

“Show some fucking respect or we’ll follow through and just take the Dead advice seriously.” Another idiot calls, too far away to worry about any retribution from the outlaw. 

Faraday rolls his eyes but nonetheless hopes Vas will learn some goddamn restraint. He gets after Faraday for not using it, he should at least do as he preaches. 

He nudges his heel against Ale’s calf in hopes of calming the other man down. Teddy saw them get taken, Sam and the rest will storm in any moment, he’s sure of it. They don’t need to provoke any of the mudsills into doing anything stupid.

“Surprised you know that many words.” Vas taunts, a familiar jibe from Goodnight but nowhere near as friendly like. The resounding sound makes Josh wince in sympathy. They’ve both been through worse but it still makes his hackles rise something fierce.

“Did you learn that at the whorehouse? Slap as hard as any painted cat I’ve known. Though not as hard as mi madre.” Josh wants to groan. Wants to tell his lover to shut up and keep his head down, but he let their captors put his gag in easily enough. And it’s not like Vas has been listening to any subtle cues Josh has been giving. 

He decides to go for a more direct approach and slams the back of his head against his lover’s. It shocks the other man enough, mouth falling agape in surprise and anger no doubt, that the gang finally manages to harshly stuff a gag into his mouth. 

He shouldn’t, he knows better than to try Lady Luck’s good favor, but he does still hope that Vas will behave long enough for the others to arrive. He tries to convey from his own silence that his lover needs to just be patient for once in his goddamn life. 

Unfortunately it seems all of Joshua Faraday’s luck dried up in his run to the Gatling and survival after Rose Creek. Not to mention the luck of being able to explore the relationship he and the vaquero outlaw had been developing in the few short weeks they had known each other. Next thing he knows there’s the telltale thud of flesh hitting flesh. And a distinctly familiar groan of a man being kicked in his most intimate parts.

“What’s the hell is going on in here?!” The head of the damned outfit bellows as he strides in through the door. He stands tall and menacing in Faraday’s field of vision. And something, the same thing that warned him in Rose Creek before his suicidal charge, tells him _danger_.  
“Damn animal’s been putting up a fight.” The one who isn’t lying on the ground explains.

At that explanation, Faraday can’t help the snarl of anger and disgust that he loses at the men facing him. Which turns out to be the stupidest thing he’s done in his life to date because it causes all eyes but the only ones he wants to see snap to him.

_ Fuck _ . He eloquently curses in his head as he watches the devilish grin grow sinister across the leader's face. But damned if he would ever let someone as low life as these assholses insult  _ his _ vaquero. 

“This one ain’t wanted for anything is he?” The gaze hones in on him and he wants to squirm. And although Ethel Faraday didn’t raise a quitter, she sure as hell, against all her attempts otherwise, raised a fool. These combinations of traits led Joshua Faraday to sit up straight  and stare the man threatening Vasquez in the eye, even as he watched his own doom glinting in the bandit’s eye same as the gat gleamed in the sun.

“Get me my whip.” The man orders and there’s a few whoops of excitement from other men as he moves around Faraday to look Vasquez  in the eye. Josh knows the exact moment he does do because Vas’ back suddenly tenses even as he starts to bristle like a tomcat about to fight.

“We’ll teach this buckaroo a thing or two about how failure to cooperate is punished in these here parts.” Faraday can hear the asshole condescendingly pat Vas’ stubbled cheek, even as he watches with apprehension as one of the men comes in with a menacing two pronged whip made of rawhide. It looks like it may have been a light tan once upon a time, but now stained permanently with the blood of it’s claimed victims.

For one small moment Faraday hopes they use it on him. He can’t bare the thought of watching Ale be tortured. But when, at some unseen signal, he’s hoisted to his feet and brought in front of his lover, only to have his wrists strung up from the rafters, does he wish instead that Sam Chisolm would move a mite bit faster.

*******

Vasquez won’t lie. It was satisfying antagonizing the third rate bullies and bandits who managed to get a lucky drop on him and Josh.

But now, seeing the panic in his lover’s green eyes as his shirt is torn from his back and discarded as if it and the man it belonged to were trash… He doesn’t find it so funny anymore.

Luckily, if anything in this could be considered luck, they left both of their gags in. Josh won’t bite his tongue off in pain and Vasquez won’t manage to run his mouth off and get his lover in even more trouble.

That luck seems to dry up when the gag that the two idiotas had worked so hard to tie around his mouth is yanked away by the greasy rat in front of him.

“Twenty-five lashes. You count.” He orders in a way that sounds distinctly like a threat before moving to stand behind Joshua.

There’s a moment of tension. Like before the first shot in a gunfight or the crack of thunder after the lightning. In that brief moment of reprieve Faraday’s eyes aren’t accusatory (though they have every reason to be Vas desperately thinks) but rather full of such love and affection that is only reserved for him.

Then the Florida cow whip cracks and mars Joshua’s already scar-ridden back.

Vas has to bite his tongue at the choked off groan of pain Joshua releases.

“Count!” The man, no not a man, the devil yells as the second lash lands.

Vasquez is still too horrified. His tongue is too thick for his mouth. As his eyes only focus on Josh’s face as he internally begs for Sam or  _ anyone  _ to arrive and put a stop to the madness. He doesn’t want to open his mouth. He can’t speak for fear that he’ll say something that will only make his guerito suffer more.

“Damn animal barely speaks English boss, probably doesn’t even know how to count!” One of the grunts jeers.

That makes a flash of anger spark in Josh’s eyes as he jerks in his restraints to go after the man mocking his lover. And Vas can’t stop him. Still won’t open his mouth to prove the men wrong.

Because even as Josh moves to chase after the offending man, his damn Irish passions too concerned for his lover than his own well being, he immediately falls back as the third lash lands. 

“Well that’s awfully hard on his a-me-go here.” The devil sneers. “Cause I’ll keep going until he does.” There’s so much pleasure in the devil’s voice that Vas’ skin begins to crawl.

A fourth lash, a conciliatory and reassuring look from familiar loving green eyes. “Four-”

“No! From! One!” The devil orders even as he laughs and lashes his lover again and again and again on each word.

At the last strike Vas grinds his teeth and mutters a dark, “one.” As the technical eighth lash lands.

He can hear the jeers of those watching. Hears the devil whipping his lover. Each crack louder than thunder, and resonating enough that he is sure that they will haunt his nights for years to come. He hears the maniacal laughter echoing from behind Joshua. But he doesn’t focus on any of that. Instead he focuses on green eyes gradually dulling with pain and exhaustion. He focuses on pale skin that gradually grows paler with each drop of blood lost. He focuses on his own accented counting, not wanting to be the cause of someone suggesting they start over because he messed up along the way.

Eventually his dry throat and mouth push out a pathetic trembling (he’s not the one being hit, treated no better than cattle, all he’s doing is  _ counting, helpless, useless _ ) “Twenty-five.” The demon finally steps out from behind Josh.

He pats the gambler’s cheek in a false platitude before forcefully pulling the gag out of lips that have tenderly broken Vas in every way from physical to emotional.

The corner of his lips are red and dry and Vas’s heart yearns to reach out and comfort. But is only all too aware that it will be used against his lover. His wrists still twinge as he struggles to reach out, and he’s distantly aware of something warm and wet running down them.

“Leave you two alone. We’ll be back. And you-” A cruel hair grips brown curls and yanks his head back even as he is all too aware that he has absolutely  _ no right  _ to complain. “-behave or we’ll be having a repeat performance, and next time  _ you  _ can use the whip. Buckaroo like you must have plenty experience.” The man cackles and roughly pushes Vasquez’s head away.

When the sounds of jeers and cackles finally grow too distant, and the lock on the door to the room they are held in clicks shut does he begin an earnest struggle to reach Josh. They left no water or bandages. They didn’t even have the fucking decency to untie Joshua (as if the man would have any energy to try to leave after that). The other man has resorted to having his weight all rest on his wrists and shoulders as he hangs limply from the ceiling, too exhausted to care about that pain. If only Vas could reach out and  _ hold him. _

“Not your fault.” Josh slurs as tears stream down Alejandro’s face. “We’re ok. Red and Horne’ve found the trail, and Sam will burst in any moment. Billy and Goody-” He winces as something pulls a wound on his back and more tears stream down Ale’s face. “They’ll clear everyone out, won’t even have the common decency to leave the head jackass for you to kill. And Emma will dispense her righteousness or whatever the hell she calls it.”

He trails off at the end, out of breath and probably too weak to try to console his lover anymore. But Vas can tell he’s still painfully awake. And he curses out loud for Josh feeling the need to comfort  _ him _ .  _ Vasquez  _ got his lover into this mess, caused him every iota of pain he’s experiencing. And the other man is comforting--

Vas weakly shakes his head in protest, before taking a deep breath. Josh opens his mouth to start speaking more nonsense again, but he’s cut off by Vasquez starting to sing in low soothing Spanish curling around gentle lullabies, trying to take his lover’s mind off the massive amount of pain he’s in. 

*******

Goody and Sam barge into the room they were told was housing two of their friends and are immediately struck by the overwhelming stench of blood. Their eyes are immediately drawn to a broad figure hanging from the rafters by a rope and his wrists that takes a few moments to realize is Joshua.

Goody represses the haunting memories of the battlefields, of boys too young to even enlist dying in the most gruesome ways imaginable, as he and Sam make their way over to the gambler. But they slow when they hear scratchy albeit calming singing coming from Vasquez. It’s clear he’s not aware of them. Or of Billy and Horne taking justice into their own hands in the rest of the bandit hideout. Instead, brown eyes are boring holes into his lover.

“Vasquez?” Goody asks approaching the outlaw tentatively as he squats in front of the man. Sam’s moved to lower Joshua to the ground. At the pitiful moan his lover emits as Sam’s hand barely skims over pale bloody skin he seems to recognize that there are others in the room. 

“Vas?” Is what Joshua seems to groan questioningly at Sam even as he struggles and fails to sit up to locate his lover. That more than Goody or Sam’s presence spurs Vasquez into struggling out of his bindings to get to his lover. Goodnight wants to release him, but on closer inspection the ties around the outlaw’s wrists have dug deeply into the man’s skin from struggling to reach his lover, and Goody doesn’t want to hurt him further. 

Luckily, it’s at that moment that Red appears, knife in hand as he deftly, though not as quickly as Billy, releases the bound man.

Sam and Goody exchange equally helpless looks as Vas races to gather Joshua in his arms only choking over sobs as his lover lets out another pained groan.

“He’s ok Alejo.” Sam tries to reassure but it isn’t clear whether either of the captured men could hear or understand them.

“We need to bring them back to town.” Goodnight says approaching the tender if sorrowful scene. 

“Need Horne-” Sam begins only to cut himself off at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“For- Merciful heaven.” The oldest man exclaims as he catches only a glimpse at Joshua’s back. It is nowhere near as worrying as the man’s body after being caught in an explosion, but it still makes the best of them stumble at the cruelty of men.

Horne makes his way over, Red not far behind, as the two slowly pull Joshua out of Alejo’s grip and start applying makeshift bandages. When they try to treat Vasquez’s cut wrists however, he snarls at them until they focus once again on his lover.

“Will they be ok?” Emma asks quietly when Goodnight makes it over to the Sheriff of Rose Creek and his own lover. 

Goodnight leans against Billy for support, and it seems, as the other man’s hand grips his waist, that Billy needs the support as well. 

“They will be.” Sam says though it sounds like he’s saying it not just for his team’s sake but for his own as well. “They will be even if it’s only for each other.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been reading a lot of non fiction about American slang and White Trash so I used a word from there: mudsills are a word for white trash that southerners used to scorn northerners especially in the Civil War
> 
> Mmm-mmm-mm I love me some angst, especially this particular brand, so yes this was purely self indulgent ;) However! Please comment and let me know how I did because as an artist I do live and die for validation xxx If you want to request something for me to write (anything not just BTHB prompts) go over to my tumblr (purplenerd777)

**Author's Note:**

> My bingo card is here: http://purplenerd777.tumblr.com/post/176409951240/purplenerd777-purplenerd777-here-is-your
> 
> Feel free to make a request here, or at my tumblr: purplenerd777  
> Fandoms: Mag7, Overwatch, and Swtor


End file.
